


The Waiting Game

by TransFernKing



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fëanor is very protective, Gothmog is a creep, M/M, understandably though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:51:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransFernKing/pseuds/TransFernKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gothmog, known as Caladcyll to Aulë's folk, has not yet been swayed to the side of Melkor, though his friend Mairon has long since fallen for the Vala's charm. All it will take is a push in the right direction - and perhaps it is young Maglor, with his sweet, lilting voice, and his shy trust, who can convince him to remain Caladcyll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I took some initiative and decided that Gothmog’s name pre-corruption/fall/whatever you want to call it, was Caladcyll, which means light-bearer in Sindarin. It would make sense, as fire (because Balrog) doesn’t necessarily mean evil. He is still a Maia of fire, and would have therefore been named to recognize that.   
> Also, Mairon is Sauron, Curumo is Saruman.

Fëanor and his sons were visiting the halls of Aulë. The prince himself sat beside Mahtan, his wife’s father whom he had been apprenticed to and since surpassed, while the three sons he had brought with him were scattered over the hall. The great mess hall that they all took their meal in was carved from the stone of the mountain above the powerful forges deep underground, and the Maiar of Aulë were there though then had no need for food. Some took wine or ale, or delicacies for the taste, while the Elves ate their fill.

Caladcyll, as it was, took neither food nor drink, instead speaking sober with Curumo, who was rambling about Yavanna’s ‘oversensitivity’ and her ‘attempts at surpassing Aulë’s accomplishments by way of the Ents.’

As much as he tried to endure the Maia, he couldn’t focus on what he was saying for several reasons in addition to the fact that he was making no sense whatsoever. The most prominent of those reasons was the incredibly beautiful, slightly drunk, and _terribly_ young Elf sitting across the table from him. Maglor’s golden, oak-wood skin was flushed slightly, and his curls of silken black hair were loose over his back. His dark eyes, thin and piercing as daggers, were downcast as he read the book in his hands - hands that looked so delicate and fragile, but which were renowned already for their skill at the harp, lute, and practically any stringed instrument that he decided to play.

“Are you even listening to me?” Curumo waved at the Maia, who looked back to him, feigning interest. Curumo huffed and got up, evidently deciding that his time and words would be better spent elsewhere.

Caladcyll sighed, trying not to stare at Maglor. There was a voice in his ear, “How old is he? Forty, maybe?”

Mairon stood there in all his judgmental glory. Hands on his hips, blonde hair tied back, and forge-apron still on, there was a little smirk on his face as Caladcyll tried to form an argument. “You desire him. Don’t try to deny it.”

Caladcyll glared. “Not so loud.”

But Mairon’s smirk only grew, “I thought you only lusted after those who had already come of age.”

“Give it a rest. It’s not as if I’m going to do anything with him. I can admire from afar - unlike you, who must make your affections known to all.”

Mairon ground his teeth. “That was _one time_.”

“One time was all it took, my friend. You can’t exactly un-shout to all Aulë’s people that you want to lick Melkor’s bi - ”

Mairon clamped a hand over his mouth, and the other Maia was laughing into it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maglor glance at them and smile. Mairon got a wicked gleam in his eyes, and Caladcyll’s eyes shot open as he felt a mental transmission pass him by to the young Elf.

The two Maiar were silent and watched as Maglor gasped inaudibly, not looking at them, and shook his head of the unbidden thoughts that seemed to be his own. Caladcyll whispered to Mairon, “What did you just tell him?”

“Nothing you wouldn’t want him thinking about.” Maglor’s eyes flickered over to Caladcyll and then he tried to get up discretely from where he was sitting, tripping slightly and blushing furiously before practically running from the hall. Mairon still smiled, “Well, what are you waiting for? Go to him. Comfort him, ask him what’s wrong. Take him in your arms, let him lean on you, and feel his warm, little body trembling against yours.”

Caladcyll stood and went to follow Maglor, pointing a finger at Mairon, “Be quiet. I mean to do none of those things.”

Mairon tried to mind-shout something at him, but he blocked it out as he left to find the Noldo. The stone corridor outside the hall gave nothing away, and so Caladcyll looked at it differently, at the heat signatures rather than light, and easily picked up Maglor’s trail. He moved quickly and quietly, and soon caught up with the boy. He was unsure about how Maglor would react to his presence, or if he would be wanted there at all, and so he waited for a moment outside of the closed door which he knew Maglor was behind. He almost knocked. He heard a sound from inside, muffled by the wood, but still just audible enough…

“Are you all right? We saw you leave, and I hope you were not disturbed in any way. If there is anything I can do…”

Maglor's shuddering breaths quieted, and he sniffled once. "Why did you follow me?"

Caladcyll clenched his jaw. It was wrong to lie. "I'm afraid my friend's joke is in bad taste. I do not know what thoughts he put in your head, but I can assure you that they will fade, and they were nothing more than trickery."

The door opened to reveal a distressed-looking Maglor. Caladcyll felt guilty, for he looked upon little more than a child with red-rimmed eyes. "Thank you for... telling me. I was scared. Such thoughts are new to me."

With the admission, the young Noldo's tears threatened to spill over. "Would you like me to go?"

"No... I think I prefer the company." Maglor ushered him into the room, which Caladcyll recognized to be the office of a Maia. He lit the fireplace on the far wall with a thought, and Maglor sat down by it, looking up. "Can you distract me?"

Caladcyll nodded, smiling, and placed himself next to the young Elf. "Do you know much of the Dwarves?"

Maglor tilted his head, "They keep themselves a secret people, and I know little of them. Though, father has always spoken highly of any of Aulë's people."

"Would you like to know of their beginning?"

-

Hours later, Maglor had fallen asleep to the sound of the Maia's voice. Caladcyll picked him up from under his knees and neck, as though he weighed nothing, and carried him back to the hall. Most of Aulë's people had left by then, and Fëanor with Maedhros and Caranthir trailing behind him rushed to the Maia, "Where has he been?"

"I think he found the festivities too much, and ran off. I was worried for him, and found him, and we talked." Caladcyll said, "Would you like me to carry him back to where you are staying this night?"

Fëanor lifted his head, suspicious and haughty, and examined him. "Yes, all right. Follow me."

They walked to where the Elves had been placed, in guest rooms for such visitors, and little Caranthir, who could not have been older than ten or twelve, held onto Maedhros' tunic, apparently just as tired as Maglor had been. Once inside, Caladcyll laid down the young Elf as gently as he could, and just as he turned to leave the family in peace, he felt a hand grasp his own.

He looked down and saw Maglor, eyes nearly closed and his mouth in a tired smile, holding on. "Thank you." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone stop me. I am memeing too hard in this chapter.

When Amrod and Amras were born, Aulë made them each a toy - mere trinkets to the Vala, which he had delivered to the Fëanorians’ household in time for the celebration being held in their honour. Caladcyll carried them in a little wooden box, entering the house with a nod at the guards and finding himself among a crowd of Elves, mostly well-wishers and family of the newborns. He approached the head table in the large reception hall, intending to leave the gift and be gone swiftly, for he had urgent matters to discuss with Mairon.

He stood before Fëanor and Nerdanel, each holding a tiny twin swaddled in silk, with wisps of red hair on their little heads, and their older sons. He bowed respectfully, and brought forward the box, “Aulë sends his congratulations.”

Fëanor managed to smile and nod while looking both completely exhausted and haughty. He truly was a marvel. “Thank you. May I see it?”

Caladcyll placed the box on the table before him, and he opened it with gleaming eyes. He pulled out a little metal fox and a similar deer. He ran his fingers over it, examining the craftsmanship, and twisting the winch on the neck of the fox. When he let go, the legs moved and he nearly dropped it, but smiled nonetheless.

Fëanor looked up at the Maia and pronounced his doom, “Stay, enjoy the festivities.”

He, of course, had no viable excuse to leave, and so bowed his head and gave as honest a smile as he could muster. “Of course.”

Caladcyll turned from the table and closed his eyes for a moment, cursing internally. When he opened them again, a familiar young Elf stood before him, looking up with a mix of different emotions. “Hello.”

He took a moment to orient himself, then his thoughts of departure departed him. Caladcyll stared at Maglor, his full lips curved up into a little smile, his bright-dark eyes pensive and expectant. “Hello, little one.”

At that, Maglor frowned, petulant and beautiful, “I am not _little_. I reach my majority in but five years.”

 _Valar_ , Caladcyll thought, then gathered himself, “All right, what should I call you, then?”

“Maglor works perfectly fine.” The Maia felt oddly lightheaded, though was quickly distracted as Maedhros came over and put an arm around Maglor’s shoulders.

“Caladcyll?” His red hair was tied up in several elaborate braids, which tumbled down well past his shoulders, “I’m glad you could come, since Maglor here was so hopeful. We haven’t seen you in a while.”

The Maia raised an eyebrow and looked to the younger brother, “Hopeful?”

“Well,” Maglor’s eyes wandered to anywhere but Caladcyll, “I much desired to speak with you.”

“ _That_ is an understatement. He talked about you non-stop for a full month after we left the halls of Aulë, and once we knew that he would be sending a representative of his house to see the twins, _someone_ ,” Maedhros looked at his brother fondly, “grew optimistic.”

Maglor was blushing, “I didn’t talk about him that much.”

Maedhros’ expression at that was one of judgmental, if somewhat amused, disbelief, “Sure, Maglor.”

Maglor received a pat on the back as his brother moved on to find other conversation. Caladcyll was smiling. “I’m flattered. Was there… anything in particular that you wished to speak to me about?”

The Elf paused for a moment, then shook his head, the tiny crystals and white flowers woven into his hair glinting in the firelight. “I had just hoped to be in your company. I found comfort and knowledge in your words the last time we spoke, and have yearned for such conversation ever since. The trees, though equally beautiful, have less insight.”

Maglor quieted, “That is to say, ah, you are beautiful as all the Ainur. I mean, you are not _average_ by any stretch - ”

Caladcyll lifted a hand in a gesture for Maglor to calm himself, and the young Elf nodded, looking relieved. He looked around, then took an unopened bottle of strong wine from the nearest table and beckoned him, “Come, I want to hear you better than this.”

No one paid them much heed as they wove through the crowd, and before long, they were out in the open air, the sky dark-silver with the light of Telperion and the stars far above. Maglor smiled, breathing deeply. He flashed a glance at Caladcyll and passed him, walking graceful down the marble steps leading from the doors of the house and onto the grounds. He sat down under a nearby oak tree with wide-spreading limbs, with the Maia closely following.

“Do you often leave the parties of your own house?” Caladcyll arranged himself to face the young Elf.

Maglor struggled slightly with the cork of the bottle, “Only when I find it gets to be too much - sometimes I wish more for solitude and rest than revelry, for while I do enjoy it, I grow tired quickly.”

“Here, let me.” Caladcyll opened the wine with a little gesture to loosen the cork, and Maglor took a drink straight from the bottle. The Maia chuckled, but drank as well when the wine was passed to him. “Your family does not seem to share that need for space, I think.”

Maglor laughed, “My father still thinks he has just come of age, and could host parties for days on end if mother allowed it, which she never would. Celegorm sometimes entertains me when I have the need for a walk to calm down during an event like this, but I think he is more hopeful that he will come across something to hunt. He is so rarely with us now anyway, with being apprenticed to Oromë. So, yes, I spend many parties wandering in the trees on my own.”

“I hope that you bring a sword with you.”

“Why?” Maglor tilted his head, wine on his lips, “What would I have to defend myself from?”

Caladcyll was much more serious, “Surely you have heard the rumors, stories of Melkor’s servants returning?”

“They would not be so bold as to enter Valinor. We are well-guarded here by the Ainur.” Maglor looked so innocent and hopeful as he spoke, “ _You_ protect us from the evil in the world.”

Caladcyll found himself short of breath for a moment, and took another swig of wine. He stared at the ground. “I fear we cannot keep out the darkness forever. It is growing, a writhing mass in the east that ever yearns for a master. I can feel it.”

Maglor’s eyes were wide, “How? Does Arda speak to you?”

The Maia looked at him, so curious and so naïve, and almost told him about the growing connection that he had with Melkor and all his servants, about Mairon’s secret followers and his new name, spoken only in whispers - _Sauron_. His own dark name was there at the tip of his tongue and burning at the back of his throat. It would be so easy to lean over and speak it softly into Maglor’s ear, to ease the burden, to leave hanging the implications of the name _Gothmog_.

He did not. He nodded slowly and lied, “Yes.”

Maglor let out an overwhelmed sigh and leaned up against the tree. He went to sip the wine, but found that they had already drained the bottle - though truthfully it was Maglor who had most of it. “I don’t feel like getting more. I’ll not lose myself.”

“Good plan.” Caladcyll shuffled over so that he was next to Maglor, the Elf’s head coming to rest on his arm.

“The next time I see you, I should leave the wine be. I don’t want this to be a pattern, nor do I want _all_ my memory of you distorted.” Maglor’s eyes seemed mostly closed, but it was hard for Caladcyll to tell from the angle.

“Oh, you’d never want to see me again.” He smiled.

Maglor laughed, a lovely sound that was musical as the rest of him, “I fear I would just seek you out all the more.”

Caladcyll chuckled slightly and pushed back his own thoughts and hopes about what Maglor desired from him. It was difficult with the Elf practically clinging to his arm, nuzzling his head into the Maia’s shoulder. Maglor even ran a hand through his silver-brown hair, which was normally pulled back in a braid so he could see better, but which he had left down. Those skilled fingers weaving through his hair nearly made him lose his little composure, and he could almost feel those wine-red lips on his own, warm breath flowing from one of them to the other - he opened his eyes, and realized that he had not been imagining.

For a moment, he was frozen in awe at the Elf kissing him with pink cheeks, eyes closed and set in concentration, bark tangled into his thick hair with the shining, tiny gems, and biting at his lip demanding entrance. Maglor moved his hands to the Maia’s shoulders and pressed forward. Caladcyll went to push him away, but only found his fingers gripping the Elf’s slender waist and begging to pull him forward so they would align. Caladcyll in a haze kissed along Maglor’s jaw and neck, before sucking and gently biting at the Elf’s exposed collarbone.

Maglor let out a little whine, desperate and breathy, and Caladcyll realized what he was doing. It took all of his willpower to stop, but he did, bringing the trembling Elf to arm’s length away from him. “No. I’m sorry. I cannot. You are drunk, and you are a child.”

Maglor opened his mouth to protest, and Caladcyll pressed a finger to his lips. “I will not take advantage of you, and I will not do anything that we will regret come Laurelin’s waxing. I take my leave.”

He stood, then decided that there was a better course of action, extending his hand. “Come, I will help you back.”

There was a horrid glimmer of hope in his eyes as he took it, letting Caladcyll support his unsteady steps. They both were silent, and passed through the doors unquestioned, Caladcyll sometimes stopping to ask Maglor directions to the Elf’s rooms. They finally came to his door and Caladcyll turned the knob, pushing the door open and detaching himself from the young Elf. Maglor took a tentative step and was able enough to walk without wobbling too much.

He faced the Maia, leaning on the doorpost, “You do not hate me, I hope.”

Caladcyll frowned, “Of course not.”

“Good.” Maglor grinned uninhibited, “I would not want to ruin any future meetings of ours.”

“You could not ruin anything with me by something so simple as a kiss.”

Maglor nodded and for a moment it seemed like he would close the door, and then he pulled Caladcyll forward by his tunic, and the Maia let his arms wrap around the Elf. They stood there for a while before Caladcyll pulled back, “You should rest.”

“Yes.” Maglor nodded, not looking at him, and slipped away, shutting him out of the room at last.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying really hard not to include any porn, let me know ur thoughts on that.

Nerdanel did not consider it odd for her children to receive and send letters, and so she did not ask about them. She knew that Maedhros corresponded with his cousin Fingon, who was just barely older than Caranthir and had been writing coherently for several years, that Celegorm wrote to the Elves and few Maiar that he knew from their time with Oromë together, and that Caranthir did not particularly like writing, nor reading, as he claimed it gave him a headache, and that the letters would jump about as though they had lives of their own. Fëanor had laboured long to try to help the boy, but there seemed to be little that he could do to help, which grieved him, as he wished to share the written word with all his sons.

Maglor, though, had always kept to himself and wrote on his own, whether it was music or private journals, both of which he was rather passionate about. Following the Ambarussa’s birth two years prior, he had started writing letters. She did not know whom they were intended for, but she certainly knew that they wrote back, for once every few days, a messenger would show up at their door and Maglor would take his letter up to his rooms with a little smile.

Once she had tried to ask who was sending these letters that would leave Maglor smiling and singing only in major keys for the next day, and he had evaded the question expertly, leaving her wondering how all her children had managed to inherit their father’s gift for talking his way out of things. She had not pushed the issue after that, knowing that obviously it was Maglor needed some discretion about, but that did not stop her curiosity.

“Do you think he’s in love?” She asked Fëanor, on a day when his inspiration wasn’t coming to him and he had decided to station himself in her studio. She was glad for the model that he made, but not the distraction.

“It’s early to say. Though, I think, whoever it is, we will have at least one proposal on our hands once he comes of age.” Fëanor was sitting on a chair before his wife, and she pursed her lips every time he moved, trying to match the marble she was working with to him. “Come now, you’ve seen how people look at him.”

“Indeed I have. That doesn’t mean I like it.” She shook her head, chipping away at the nose, “I just hope that when the time comes, he makes the right decision, and that he waits until he’s sure about… well, this is all assuming that he chooses to marry in the first place.”

Fëanor nodded. Nerdanel sighed, then took his chin in hand and raised it to where it had been before. Fëanor made a genuine effort not to smile at that. “You care about them so much.”

She looked at him, almost confused, “Well, of course I do. They’re my children, as much as they are yours.”

“Don’t I know it.” She glared at him, “Yes, they definitely got _that_ from you.”

Nerdanel shook her head and laughed. She worked in silence for a few minutes, before Fëanor spoke again, “You shouldn’t worry about who Maglor’s letters are from. They seem to care for him, having written for this long.”

“I know. It’s just…” She paused her sculpting. “I want him to be safe, and to make intelligent decisions. Whatever this is now, it may not work out in the future, and…”

She chewed on her wording. “A mother is only as happy as her least happy child. I worry for him, for his difficulty reaching out, and I don’t want to see him too attached to a single person, especially if we do not know who they are. You’ve seen how he gets if a letter is late.”

Fëanor nodded, and took her hand. She wasn’t angry at him for moving at all. “Nerdanel, it will work itself out.”

It was then that a guard, red-faced and anxious-looking, appeared at the open door of the studio. Fëanor motioned for him to come in, and he bowed before them.

“Maglor is gone.” He held out a note, “He left this.”

-

Maglor pushed aside a few branches, treading lightly in his soft leather boots on the forest floor. Up ahead, he could see the wide cleft in the mountain rocks, and he smiled. He looked behind him, knowing well that the chances of him being found were slim, as he had started out on horseback, doubling back several times and eventually sending the horse back in the direction they’d come from, as well as making sure to step only on solid earth and avoid leaving too many traces of his passing. He had even moved from tree to tree on their thick branches when he could. They would have a few days at least, to be sure.

He looked down and saw another fresh set of footprints, and grinned in excitement. Maglor came to the mouth of the cave. Inside, it was already lit with a few well-placed torches in metal holders made and fastened to the stone by Caladcyll. Maglor had only come to the cave once, to drop off a few furs and bedding, and had been alone then. Now, the place looked less like a makeshift camp and more like a true hideout.

From one edge of the entrance to the cave was a rope strung up, presumably to dry clothes. There was a fire-pit almost under it and in a bit, with a pile of logs and sticks right next to a cloth covered in cooking tools, and further in was a low wooden table and a small box full of cups, plates, bowls and utensils. By the wall near the table were two crates, both closed, and past them was a small harp. On the other side of the cave, next to what he assumed to be Caladcyll’s pack, was a great mess of blankets and fur and pillows that Maglor couldn’t help but blush to look upon, knowing that it was to serve as their bed on the smooth floor. In the air, there was the smell of warm steam from the hot spring that was just out of sight, past a well-sized hole in the cave wall, and the smell of rock and of trees from outside. It was obvious that, despite the footprints, Caladcyll was not there at the moment. So, Maglor placed down his pack full of some fruit and his clothes by the bed, and went to investigate the crates.

Kneeling and having taken off the top of one, he found an assortment of herbs, cheeses, flatbread, root vegetables, and a lemon, as well as some glass bottles of water and one that he suspected to be mead. He was about to look into the second crate when he heard a certain Maia’s voice call out, “Maglor.”

He turned and smiled to find Caladcyll standing there, his grey-brown hair a mess with twigs and leaves, a rabbit in one hand and a partridge in the other. Maglor laughed, “What happened to you?”

“Well,” He looked to his game, “I’ve never had to hunt before, so this was something new for me.”

Maglor got up and approached him, seeing more clearly that the rabbit’s fur was slightly scorched and the bird was still smoking. “You didn’t have to. There’s already two crates of food, and I don’t know how long we’ll be able to stay here for.”

Caladcyll kissed him soundly, then led him back so he could set down his kill on the table. “There’s _one_ crate of food. I’m glad that’s the one you opened first.”

Maglor looked at him in question, but didn’t say anything, waiting for Caladcyll to explain himself. “I’ll show you after your evening meal - which we should get started on, since… how often do you have to eat?”

The Elf laughed again, “Normally, three times a day, but that depends. However, all I’ve had today is two pears, so I’m practically famished.”

Caladcyll looked worried at that, but Maglor waved it off, “I’m exaggerating, but yes, it would be nice to eat as soon as possible.”

“All right. Rabbit or partridge?”

“Rabbit, I think. You can prepare it to be cooked, but I’ll do the rest. I don’t suppose you’ve ever made food, either.” Caladcyll was embarrassed, but nodded. “I saw a few spices that I think I’ll use for it.”

They both got to work, Maglor preparing a few vegetables to go with it and gathering the ingredients in time for the Maia to present him with the rabbit and then get the fire started. By the time it was dark, Maglor was at the table eating lemon rabbit with rosemary and slices of roasted potato.

“Well, how is it?” Caladcyll asked, still appearing concerned.

“It’s not the best I’ve made, but thank you certainly for the rabbit.” Maglor took another bite and waited to speak, “Would you like to try?”

“Sure.” Caladcyll moved to sit directly next to him, and Maglor presented him with the fork. He took a small bite, then nodded, “I think it’s excellent.”

Maglor looked at him, disbelieving, “You don’t have all that much to go off of, do you?”

“You’ve got me there. I am also biased,” He kissed the Elf’s forehead, “You made it, and so in my eyes it is lovely.”

Maglor swatted his shoulder lightly, grinning, “Stop that.”

The rest of his meal passed quickly enough, and Caladcyll got some water from the spring in a bowl as well as a cloth from the food crate and they washed the dirtied dishes. Once finished, they fell together onto the furs, with the Maia overtop of Maglor and kissing him as the young Elf’s hands threaded through his hair. Caladcyll made a little sound after a bit, and they broke apart.

“I almost forgot.” He got up quickly and retrieved the second crate. “Here, open it.”

Maglor smiled, curious, and took it, still sitting flushed on their bed. It was smaller than the other box, and he opened it easily. He frowned confused for a moment, before he gasped in realization, lifting the cloth up from the crate. “What…”

Caladcyll sat facing him and smiled. Maglor held a robe, dark blue satin, with an embroidered pattern of faint silver vines weaving about it and long sleeves. Maglor saw that there was something still left in the box and pulled it out as well. It was a black vest with silver buttons and little strings of pearls running down it. “Well, put it on.”

Without hesitating, Maglor took off his travelling shirt and boots, leaving only his leggings, and put on the robe. It wrapped around him and tied with a silver sash, and with trembling hands he did up the buttons of the vest. He faced Caladcyll, nervous.

“Did you make this?” The Maia nodded. “It fits me perfectly. Thank you so much, I… How do I look? I can’t tell.”

Caladcyll closed his eyes and sent the image to him - his hips hugged tightly by the fabric and the black of the vest nicely complimenting his golden-brown skin. The satin of the robe glinted in the firelight. “Oh…”

And then Maglor was in his lap, kissing him again. “It’s beautiful.”

“ _You’re_ beautiful.”

Maglor’s eyes shone with gratitude at that. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

“There’s no need to - giving it to you was a gift to me.” Caladcyll beamed like a child.

Maglor rolled his eyes, “Oh, you must be able to think of something.”

“Only if you allowed it.”

“What?”

“Well…” Caladcyll paused. “You know that I wish to wait for our joining, for when you are of age - don’t give me that look. I know you may feel sure now, and so do I, but I will hear no argument about it. Besides, there are other ways that I could pleasure you.”

“ _I_ know that.” Maglor tilted his head, urging the Maia to get to his point.

“If you wish it so, that could be your gift to me.”

“Pleasuring me is hardly a gift to _you_.” Maglor raised an eyebrow.

Caladcyll shook his head, “It would be, though. Would you like me to?”

“Of course.” The Elf kissed him brief and loving. Caladcyll laid him down gently and began to remove the clothes Maglor had just put on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shh I'm going to cover what happened that u missed in the letters


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> letters! so many letters!

“I will not violate his privacy so soon.” Nerdanel shook her head, strands of red hair falling loose from her messy bun as she walked with Fëanor towards Maglor’s rooms.

“I looked with Maedhros and Celegorm and the best of our guards, and we could not find his trail. Even Huan lost the scent, Nerdanel. There may be spells woven against us, and…” His brow was set into a deep frown, “This is no longer about his privacy. It’s about his safety. Those letters may be our only chance of finding him.”

They were standing now at his door. “Come. I know that you are just as worried as I, and I hear you. I try to give our sons their comfort and their secrets so long as I do not fear for them. Any relationship is built on trust, and how could they trust us if we do not give that to them? But, this is not the time. We may not have long to find him before… I know not what may happen. I do not wish to wait and find out.”

He opened the door and Nerdanel followed him inside. Fëanor stopped, not knowing where to look, but his wife immediately went to Maglor’s bed and pushed aside an instrument case under it to pull out a wooden box with a little brass clasp. She set the box down and sat on his bed, hesitating now. Fëanor was the one to open it.

It was full almost to the top with probably hundreds of letters, all addressed to Maglor, and all opened. Nerdanel sighed and took one from the bottom of the mess of a pile, one that looked among the oldest.

_Maglor,_

_Really? Pine? I thought better of you. I personally am partial to the sycamore and elm. A sycamore is beautiful, and so very different visually from any other tree. Elms have the most to say, and are the wisest. I am not sure how well you can speak to the trees, though, aside from the Ents, who tend to keep to themselves and, I find, are far less friendly than their stationary cousins. To be grim, I suppose that would be a tree’s only defense, and likely they must be for fear._

_Though, I do see your point that for one who cannot leave the flesh, a pine is best for climbing. Taller than an apple tree and with thicker boughs and fewer parasites than a willow, and lower branches than most. Those are all good things. Would you not need to bathe, though, afterwards for the sap? Does it get caught in your hair? Does your hair get caught in it? These are important questions. I will sway you to the right side of this issue, I know it._

It was signed with a symbol which contained one of Aulë’s sigils. There was also a little note in Maglor’s writing which read, ‘ _this will not be the only thing you sway me on_.’ Nerdanel sighed again at that, and Fëanor sat up a little straighter, his ears clenched back in annoyance.

_Maglor,_

_I am indeed sorry that I missed your recital - I am not sure if you saw him, but Curumo was there and he told me you sounded wonderful, which is a high compliment coming from him. Even he was impressed with the repertoire you have of songs that you yourself have composed._

_I know it is not the same, but some time could you send me some of the lyrics? I would love to take a look. In answer to your question, I do not know when I might be able to see you next. Aulë has us undertaking a great many projects now, and Mairon I think gives us more work than he needs to, so I am hard pressed for any time to myself. What did you have in mind, just so I might take any opportunities that I get?_

Nerdanel clicked her tongue, and Fëanor reached for a slightly more recent letter.

_Little one,_

_If you wish, I can disregard the last letter you sent me. I think that you know not what you say. Perhaps I ought to wait until you respond to this, but I cannot. If you meant that, and you know the significance of your words, I am very much ready to speak with you further on them. We would certainly have some details to work out._

“It would be nice to have the letters Maglor _sent_ so we could know what in Arda they’re talking about.” Fëanor mumbled under his breath.

Nerdanel swallowed, knowing that they did not need the other half of the correspondence to know _exactly_ what they spoke of.

_Dear Maglor,_

_I think that we should wait for a discussion of intimacy. I assume you know the mechanics, as you_ are _rather intelligent and have straightforward parents. However, you are still very young and I would not feel comfortable joining with you until you have come of age at least. Certainly to me it seems as though all the Elves came to be only recently, and I fear that is an imbalance that will never even itself out, but by your laws, that is the least I can do to assure your complete and utter consent._

_I’m sure you know very well how important this is. It would not do for us to marry and then later for you to regret it. I would not be offended and it would not affect our friendship if you took other lovers. It is imperative that there not be a shred of doubt within you should this come to pass._

Fëanor’s eyes were narrowed. “If she thinks of him still as a child, she should not even be considering these things.”

“‘She’?” Nerdanel gave him an impatient and confused look. “Who exactly do you think this is?”

“Some servant of Aulë, clearly.”

“Fëanor, these are from Caladcyll.”

“Caladcyll?” He raised an eyebrow, “But they have not seen each other in years, and… Eru, you’re right.”

_My love,_

“Oh, this is off to a bad start.” Fëanor kept reading.

_I found the perfect place. There’s a cave in the mountains, nice and dry with a flat floor, and there are hot springs a little bit further in. I’m going to start making adjustments. Let me know when you can make it to see, and also you likely have access to better blankets and such than I do, so it would be nice for you to bring some. I’m afraid I can’t show you myself, as Mairon would be able to detect your scent on me if I did, and that would not bode well, but I can send one of Mahtan’s new apprentices to lead you to the cave._

_It’s rather secluded and hard to find, but I think that will serve nicely for our purposes._

“That’s it. That must be where he is.” Nerdanel was going through her head, trying to figure out when Maglor might have made the aforementioned trip to stow bedding in the cave, but she could not recall anything to do with that.

“Perhaps he will hint at their location in another letter.”

On the one Fëanor picked up next, there was an incomprehensible scrawl in Maglor’s hand, and something about it seemed off. Nerdanel frowned, anticipatory, but Fëanor opened it to Caladcyll's even writing.

_My love,_

_I suppose there’s nothing I can object to in that request. After all, I too very much enjoy thinking of such things - my lips upon yours, my hands running along your sides, holding you by the hips. I would run fingers through your hair and you would moan, and I’m sure both of us would find relief when I -_

“We don’t need to read that.” Nerdanel grabbed the paper from her husband and folded it again, placing it under the stack of letters.

“Really? This sort of thing is exactly why we should have intervened earlier. If he’s sending this… this filth to my son and - ”

“Fëanor, you speak as though we were innocent and pure throughout our courtship.”

“That was very much different. We were both of age - and our parents knew we intended to wed. There was no secret-keeping on our end.” Fëanor looked furious.

“I will speak to him about being more open with us, but for now, we should focus on the task at hand.”

_Dearest Maglor,_

_I am glad to hear that Sarngwen was so accommodating. We get along rather well, and so I trusted her to be able to show you where to go and keep it to herself. I have not heard anything of it yet, so I suspect that she has kept her word._

_I know, I agree that it doesn’t look like much for now, but the eyes of a Maia are blinded by opportunity. I can fix it up easily enough. Fear not, my darling, we will yet make our nest. I will bring in a harp as well so you might serenade me - after all this time I still have yet to hear you play._

_I can hardly wait._

“Sarngwen, apprentice to Mahtan. She will know how to find them.” Fëanor stood up and made for the door, but he was stopped by a gentle hand on his chest.

“Let me find her, and I will go to Maglor. I know that you wish to see him back here just as badly as I, but your wrath will do nothing to convince Maglor that we are on his side. I have many doubts about this Maia, and we are right to fear for our son. Have me find him, and I will see for myself if we will allow this relationship to run its course.” Nerdanel kissed him sweetly. “Trust me with this, and I will bring him home safe.”

Fëanor bowed his head, solemn. He looked back up at her after a moment, with love in his eyes. “I know you will do the right thing.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where this is going. feel free to give me ideas tbh. also: here's a game. count all the references to the Crucible in this chapter. go.

They were a sight to see, Nerdanel and Fëanor both red-faced from the wind of their ride and with their hair drawn back into tight braids, walking with quick strides through the halls of Aulë. Upon entering her father's workshop, Nerdanel broke a smile and threw her arms around her father.

They broke apart and Fëanor with crossed arms offered his stepfather a polite little bow before abandoning all pretence, “We are looking for an apprentice of yours. Sarngwen.”

“Speak plain with me, son.” Mahtan's eyes glinted with patience beyond anything Fëanor was capable of.

“It is Maglor. He has run off with a Maia of Aulë and we have reason to believe that this woman knows where they are. We would speak with her.”

Out of the three of them, only Nerdanel noticed Mairon's silent entrance, as he stepped with the grace and formidable air of a cat. She only half-payed attention to what her father's response was, instead meeting the Maia's fiery gaze as he whispered in the ear of one of the young elves working at the forges, and then left as fast as he'd come, with her in tow.

Mahtan called out his apprentice's name, and Nerdanel spoke quietly without looking at him, still staring after Mairon, “She has left. Come, we'll follow them.”

She and Fëanor bid quick farewells to her father, and then set to find Sarngwen.

-

On horses, the two were easy enough to track, for the forest was wet with rain and the young Elf-maid and Mairon would talk – too quietly to understand their words, but just loud enough to follow them and mask the sound of their own approach. Fëanor had his issues with not confronting the pair directly, but kept himself in check for the sake of finding their son.

Once it grew dark, Sarngwen and Mairon stopped to presumably make camp, and so Nerdanel and Fëanor did likewise. They made no fire, and ate only what they had brought with them, curling up together on a single bedroll near the tree they'd tied the horses to. Nerdanel drifted off soon enough, but Fëanor could find no rest. Through long hours he listened to the sounds of the woods, of crickets and of wind and a distant stream. Telperion's light was faint where they were, and darkened further by the foliage. He could barely make out the shapes of the trees about them.

There was a high scream that came from just ahead, quickly quieting, and Fëanor bolted upright, standing and drawing his sword, followed shortly by his wife. They shared a look in the darkness and ran towards the source, on full alert of any danger. Nerdanel held out an arm to stop him soon, and went into a crouch. She whispered, “Wait. Someone's there.”

She approached the shape on the ground, all stealth and caution, before covering her mouth with her hand to muffle her own voice, recoiling a few steps. It was then that Fëanor's vision adjusted and he saw the red pooling about the figure, seeping into the dead leaves. They were both frozen in place, knowing that they were anything but safe, and fearing to move should anything find them.

Fëanor spoke as loud as he dared, “If that is Sarngwen, where is Mairon?”

-

It was their second night together, and neither Maglor nor Caladcyll had worn much clothing to speak of for the past day. They had spent time in equal parts in bed and in the hot springs further into the cave. Maglor presently was sound asleep, resting encompassed in the Maia's arms, while the sleepless Caladcyll let his mind drift comfortably. Around the height of Telperion's waxing, he felt a familiar voice demand his attention.

“Gothmog,” it half-shouted, though he could feel Mairon's great distance, he was fast approaching, “Whatever you have done to anger the Noldor so, I would know it. You cannot continue to compromise us like this, or I will have to deal with you as I did the Elf girl. You felt that, I assume. I don't want to, and you know it, so work with me.”

Caladcyll gently shook Maglor awake, who opened his eyes blearily. “Maglor. You need to hide. Now. Go to the springs. Don't make a sound. I will come for you when this has passed.”

Maglor was still half-asleep, “Why? What's going on? Caladcyll?”

“If you trust me, and you want to live with your natural memory, go, now. You can give no indication of your presence. Please, Maglor. I would not have you endangered further.”

Fear and confusion wracked Maglor's being. Caladcyll kissed him and then drew him up and led him up to where the cave led further into the mountain. “Can you not tell me why? I don't understand.” He stared up at his lover, and his sheer terror reminded the Maia of the Elf's terrible youth. “I'm scared.”

“I know. I will explain when this is over. For now, you really must go.” Maglor nodded and fled, within a few steps reaching the pool and sitting shaking by the water's edge. Not a minute passed before he heard a voice, familiar though he could not place it yet, and close enough to hear the words clearly.

“Gothmog. You did not give me upright answer. You had better have good explanation for it. What are you doing here, anyway? No, don't tell me. I will hear it from our master soon enough, I'm sure.”

Caladcyll replied, “You called him? Why?”

“You are so distracted as of late, and at this critical time, no less. I figured that if I can't scare sense into you, perhaps he might be able to.” The other voice spoke as one full of pleasure, "There. Feel it. He comes."

Maglor felt a sudden cold wind, a trembling below the ground, and the water of the spring began to ripple, then shake with choppy waves. He crawled backwards until he was flush with the wall. A black shape rose from the water, a single dark limb at first, before more shot up, waving wildly like vines in search of a hold. From out of the mass of things that could only be called tentacles, a more defined form came up from the depths. It looked like no living thing that Maglor had ever seen before, all of it shining with moisture and darker than a starless night, and it seemed to be nothing more than a junction for the tentacles – though staring hard at him were round, red eyes.

Just as he thought he would be ended by the creature, it raised itself from the water and sloshed past. One of the tentacles brushed his exposed foot, and he had to bite his lip to stop from screaming at the acid sting it left. A deep rumble of a voice came now from the room, _“Ah, Mairon. I have told you before, but you do look your best when you're angry.”_

Mairon spoke curtly, “My lord. You know why I have called you?”

_“Aye. Gothmog, it is a dangerous path that we tread, though it is the right one. You knew that when you first knelt to me. I will not release you from my service for fawning over Elves, but be wary. If you become more a burden and a danger than a help to me, my retribution will fall on you mercilessly. What say you?”_

Caladcyll was quiet. “Aye, I know it, my lord. Melkor, I - ”

_“You can come out, you know.”_

Mairon cut in, “Who are you speaking to, my lord?”

_“Why, Gothmog's little Elf-whore is just beyond the wall. He's been listening in, so he can now only either join us or die with the knowledge of our righteous doings, for he would surely betray us to the Valar.”_

Maglor rose from where he trembled against the cave wall, and heard Caladcyll come to his defense. “My lord Melkor, with all respect, he is not a whore. And, he is not so base as to betray me. He is a Noldo, and strong of mind. Give him a chance, if you will.”

Maglor stepped out of the chamber and put one foot in front of the other. As he approached, he heard Melkor command, _“Stay as you are, Gothmog. Let him see you for your truth, if he has not yet, for he will see it soon enough in any case.”_

Maglor stepped into the room, and it was lit as with a great flame, for before him was a large figure glowing with heat and horned and tailed. It took him a long moment before he recognized him to be Caladcyll, for only parts of his face remained the same. The young Elf stood motionless, incapable of speaking. “Maglor, I'm sorry -”

_“Do not apologize. If he weeps for this, he weeps for corruption.”_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait, and sorry it's so short. I'm in the middle of exams right now. and, what did I tell you? minimal porn. I'm so proud of myself.

Melkor and Mairon left shortly, disappearing into thin air and leaving in their incorporeal forms. As soon as they did, Caladcyll changed to his more Elven-looking form, and it was that of all things that prompted the devastated Maglor to start crying. He was silent and incapable of meeting his lover’s gaze. Maglor sat wrapped in the furs that made up their bed, staring blankly at nothing in particular. Caladcyll tried to plead with him at first, and then settled for sitting across the cave from him and staring unwavering at the Elf.

Laurelin had long waxed when Maglor finally spoke, his voice harsh and cold. “I don’t understand.”

Caladcyll’s eyes went wide and he took a moment to respond. “What about it - ”

“You know damn well. I don’t understand how you could deceive me and be ever working for him. I don’t understand how you can plot with clear conscience the destruction of all you’ve ever known. You know what he has done just as well as the rest of us. Your form…” Maglor faltered. “You’re terrifying.”

“Maglor, it’s not that simple - ”

“No. Don’t try to justify it to me. Oh, how boldly you defended me to the dark lord, yet you think me so frail and innocent and blindly loving that I will follow you into whatever darkness seduces you. You said it yourself. I am a Noldo, and I am descended from kings. I will not succumb as easily as you.” Caladcyll was speechless. Maglor wasn’t done. “How long have your dealings with Melkor gone on? When did you falter before the light? When did your compassion and caring fade to lies? And tell me not that Melkor has been changed and absolved. No goodly being finds comfort in a form so terrible as that which I saw last night.”

It was Caladcyll’s turn to look away. His jaw hardened in grudging, patient anger. His eyes were aflame and calm as the raging ocean. When he did look back at Maglor, the little Elf shivered in a mixture of fear and temptation at the power he saw there. “The Valar would have us caged. You have no idea what we Maiar are capable of, for Aulë and the others will not let us loose on the world. I am kept a smith of metal and stone when I could work flesh and flame and craft them just as easily. There is rage within me, energy that cannot stay contained as it is. Listening to Melkor and his vision wakes my spirit like nothing else.”

The Maia looked Maglor up and down, “That, and my desire.”

Maglor shook his head, scared more than ever. He liked not to be placed with Melkor in anything. In his mind flashed images and sensations unlike much he had ever experienced. It was what might transpire should he let himself follow Melkor and fall into darkness. It was attractive, and powerful, and he possessed the capability to make it real. He felt Caladcyll’s - Gothmog’s - frustration and need, and saw for himself the glory of Arda under another, more worthy leader. He knew that he would have to resist, and that he would find the strength to, but in the moment, it was not an option. He found himself waking from the vision with heavy-lidded eyes, as though he were under the influence of some chemical, and a new desperation.

“Gothmog.” He spoke his lover’s new name like it was a spell, “Show me.”

They met halfway, one of Gothmog's hands curling around Maglor's waist and the other threading through the Elf's thick hair and coming to hold his head firm. They kissed hard and deep and anything but sweet. Maglor quickly undid the ties on his leggings, the only real piece of clothing that he wore. Gothmog froze in place for a second, and then he was back in that dark form of his, and naked. Maglor gripped one of his horns tightly, holding their faces close but not touching. He shook with want.

Gothmog laid him down writhing and impatient. It was fast and rough and born of base desires, and when it was over, Maglor lay with the breath knocked out of him, a sheen of sweat over his aching body. He looked over at Gothmog, trying to decide how he felt about what had just transpired between them. "Do you truly believe that Melkor does good in the world?"

The Maia said nothing, and in fact was only staring at the ceiling of the cave, arms crossed over his broad, bare chest. Maglor sat up, gathering furs about him for what remained of his decency. "Caladcyll?"

Gothmog turned away, and spoke just barely loud enough to be heard, "I'm a monster."

"Really? What gave it away?" Bitter sarcasm bit at the Elf's voice.

"I told you we would wait. I... I didn't restrain myself."

"Oh, and that, in your mind, holds more consequence than siding with the Vala who would see my entire race decimated and turned into mindless, bloodthirsty beasts? I gave myself willingly, but I will see you no more if you cannot understand the error of Melkor's ways." Rage burned in Maglor's eyes as he spoke.

Gothmog finally hauled himself up to meet the Elf's gaze. "You cannot leave now, do you know it?"

"Excuse me?"

"Maglor, Melkor will kill you. You're a liability." Gothmog looked away, ashamed. "He won't let himself be held back by the threat you pose."

"I'd like to see him try. Besides, even if he does do away with me, his secret would be out. All the Valar would know his true mind, and that he has everything to hide. I say let him kill me, let me be the sacrifice to let the rest of my people live."

"Do not say such things - "

"And why not? I pray he brings about his own destruction. It would be fitting." Maglor faltered. "It's not as though I would tell anyone."

"Truly?" Gothmog's voice was wary.

"As much as it pains me to say it, if we are parted, I would not betray you. What has happened between us... I have been careless, and now any pain that you feel, I feel as well. It will be so until one of us passes." He shuddered in memory of the cold pleasure. "I have bound myself to you, and I'd like to make that worth it."

He slid over to where his lover was, and leaned in, letting himself be enveloped in his arms. He heard someone call out his name, however faintly, from near the mouth of the cave just as Gothmog got that uncontrollable look in his eyes. He passed it off as his imagination. Gothmog entered him, holding him down. The call came again, this time closer, and this time definitely his mother.


End file.
